So Stay with Me and I'll Have it Made
by GLuisa88
Summary: Written for spn-summergen on LJ. AU. Stanford era. Dean's missing something and he's not doing so well without it. Hurt!Dean, permanent injury, angst.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I realize I haven't got the greatest track record when it comes to completing WIPs but never fear, this one is complete and will be two parts. The last chapter will be posted sometime within the next week :)

* * *

Dean is sitting on the edge of his hospital bed when Sam arrives.

Elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"Hey."

Dean straightens up, startled. Sam winces at the forced smile Dean plasters on his face. So it's going to be like that. Never any honesty between them. It's always, 'I'm fine, Sammy', 'everything is fine, Sammy', 'we're fine, Sammy.'

"The hospital called me," Sam says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Didn't know what to expect when I got here. They wouldn't tell me anything."

Dean nods like the movement hurts. "Yeah, um, I guess you're my emergency contact."

"You guess?"

"That's what they said was on my insurance card." Dean laughs, "Hell if I remember putting your name down! Sorry to make you come all this way, but I'm fine. I signed myself outta here… gotta get out of here."

"What happened?"

Dean shrugs as he struggles to his feet. He puts a hand down on the bed to steady himself, his face pale.

"I told you-"

"Cut the 'I'm fine' bullshit, okay? I think you owe me something, some kind of answer, for coming all this way."

Dean wheezes a laugh, "I _told_ you, Sam. Nothing happened. I'm totally fine."

"They don't call emergency contacts in non-emergency cases. You break a toe, Dean, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have called me."

Dean doesn't answer, clutches onto the bedrail a little tighter, "They got me a little drugged up, I think. I think they gave me morphine. So, uh, I probably shouldn't be driving." He ducks his head as if preparing for a massive confession, "Do you think you could drive me back to my motel room?"

"So I drove three hours to be your taxi?"

"Fine. Gimme my phone and I'll call a taxi. You can go home."

"That's not what I'm saying, Dean!"

"Then I guess I don't know what you want from me, Sammy. I didn't call you and I'm sorry you had to drive all this way for nothing but that's all this is- nothing."

"Uh huh, Is 'nothing' a common medical condition? Do they hospitalize people all the time for _'nothing'_?"

Dean groans and buries his head in his hands again. "Sam. Just give me a ride, would you? Why you gotta play lawyer on me? I'm too drugged up for this."

"You're seriously scaring the hell out of me, man. I am this close," He presses his fingers together, "To losing my shit here. The more you refuse to tell me what's wrong-"

"I got my ass handed to me by a chupacabra, okay?" Dean interrupts. "It was a fucking chupacabra."

"_Really_?" Sam doesn't believe it, at least he doesn't believe that's all of it but he knows it's all he's going to get. He lets it slide.

"Yes, really. Now will you help me ditch this joint?"

…

The night air is chilly but Dean has his window rolled all the way down. He dangles his lit cigarette out the open window and Sam doesn't say anything because right now there are bigger fights to fight hanging heavily between them.

It's been nearly two years since he's seen his brother, since he's heard his brother's voice beyond a couple of drunk voice messages.

And whose fault is that if not his own?

He'd had his reasons for cutting his family out as completely as he had but Dean was a piece of him and Sam hasn't felt whole in a very long time.

"You know, you should come down to Stanford some time." Sam winces as the words come out, wishing he could reach out and pull them back in.

Dean jerks back from the window, his eyes suddenly on Sam.

"Yeah," Dean says, though he might just as well have said no. He flicks his cigarette out the window, rubs his hands against his jeans.

"You know, you could meet some of my friends. I could give you a tour of the place."

"Right," Dean nods though there's no sincerity, no commitment.

And it's stupid, but Sam always felt like he was the one that cut his family out. But here, right now, he thinks maybe Dean has done some cutting too.

Sam lets out a defeated sigh. It figures that he'd only want what he couldn't have.

"You just passed my hotel," Dean says, tapping out another cigarette. And is it just Sam, or is Dean smoking more than he used to?

"Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I just did."

"Yeah, thanks. You're an awesome navigator."

"Whatever. Just turn around up here."

…

It's one of those roadside places. The cheap, charge by the hour type places where the billboards haven't been changed in several decades and the sheets probably just as long.

Sam can't imagine how he ever dealt with living in these shit holes. He tries to remember if they were always this bad or if Dean has just lowered his standards.

He blows out a breath. "Okay, we'll get your stuff and then we'll find a Motel 6 or something."

"No, this is good," Dean says.

"You know what's also good, Dean? Not getting the clap from your bed sheets."

"God, I've forgotten what a prissy bitch you can be."

"Well, now you remember. Get outta the car and show me to your room or give me the key and I'll get your shit together by myself."

"Nah, man, I'm staying here."

"Well, I'm not."

"I don't remember asking you to. You're not staying."

There's something in Dean's tone that makes Sam pause. Makes his ears ring, dizzy like he stood up too fast.

Makes him think that Dean isn't just throwing around words like the stubborn asshole he is.

"Stop being a stubborn asshole," Sam says.

"I mean it, Sam. Drop me off at the door and I'll take it from there. This is goodbye."

Sam shakes his head no.

"Goodbye, Sam."

"You can't get rid of me that easy."

"Oh _really_?" Dean laughs as if he has a million punch lines to Sam's words and yet he intends to share none of them.

Sam clenches his fists around the steering wheel so that he's not clenching them around Dean's neck, or punching them through his window.

He puts his car back in gear and doesn't look at the expression on Dean's face as he puts his foot to the gas. Dean may be stubborn and he may have a big mouth but Sam is the one with the car.

…

"God dammit, Sam. _Fuck you_!" Dean's face is pale and his whole body is trembling.

Sam doesn't respond. He hadn't expected Dean to react well. He presses his lips together and decides now would be a good time to turn the volume up on the radio. Dean just stares at him, eyes wide with disbelief… and something else. Something that's a little too close to panic.

Sam doesn't want to think about that because there's no reason why Dean should react like that.

"Look, man. I'm sorry you're stuck with me. But I'm not taking off an hour after you're released AMA from the hospital, okay? So either I take you back to the hospital or we find us an acceptable motel to stay the night at."

"If you take me back to the hospital, does that mean you'll leave?"

Sam is stunned into silence. He keeps his eyes on the road and tries to focus on keeping the car straight. "No." He decides. He sticks his chin out and decides he'll match Dean, stubborn for stubborn.

"Well, at least at the hospital I can make them make you leave."

Sam yanks the car over to the side of the road.

"What the hell, Dean?!" His entire body feels strung too tight, he feels like he's losing sight of what is up and what is down, "What the he-"

"No, Sam. No!" Dean interrupts, twisting his body so he can face Sam. Looks Sam fully in the eyes for the first time since he arrived, "This is not about you, okay? For once in your goddamn fucking life something is not about you! You left, and you know what? Good for you. It's what you wanted. You wanted something else- God knows what- it wasn't _me_," his voice cracks.

"You haven't been there for anything, these past few months been hell- absolute hell and you have no clue about any of it because guess where you weren't- you weren't here. So now you want to sweep in and take over and act like you give a shit but I've been taking care of myself without you and I will keep on taking care of myself without you!

"You chose not to be here, Sam and I sure as hell am not going to be the one to drag you away from what you decided you wanted more than your family. I don't want to deal with you, I don't want to deal with your guilt or your sympathy or your concern- I don't want any of it."

Sam feels lost. He stares at Dean for what feels like forever.

He jerks the car door open and stumbles from the car. He half expects Dean to follow him out but Dean just looks drained, sits in the passenger seat, body too still.

Sam doesn't know where he's going but he needs air and he needs to not be around his brother. He feels so blindsided he can barely breathe.

…

"Did you even call me once, Dean? Whatever happened, did you even give me a chance to be there for you?"

Dean's voice is exhausted, frayed, "You made it very clear what you wanted and where you wanted to be."

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You didn't even give me a chance."

…

Sam makes it sound so simple. As if all Dean has to do is trust him.

As if he is owed Dean's trust.

But it goes so far beyond trust. So far beyond it, Dean's not sure if that's what it's ever been about.

It's about not asking from Sam more than Sam wants to give. It's about not making Sam choose between his dreams and his familial obligations.

That's what Dad did. And by doing so, it was Dad that drove Sam away. Dean won't do that too. But Sam has Dean backed into a corner, more literally, locked in Sam's car and Sam's not letting him go anywhere.

Fine. This is Sam's choice, in that case.

Dean lights a cigarette, tilts his head back against the headrest and doesn't care that he isn't blowing the smoke out the window like Sam always insists he does.

He stares up at the upholstery above him which is beginning to detach and curl.

"Funniest thing, Sam," He says finally. "I don't have a leg."

Other than a slight intake of breath, Sam doesn't respond and Dean's not watching his face.

So he continues, "Bet you'd never guess, huh?" He laughs and takes another drag from his cigarette. "Wasn't even a monster or anything cool like that. Just a car crash- sliced my leg near clean off.

"You know- I saw the car comin' right at me and I thought for sure I was dead." He shakes his head, "Should've been dead."

"Dean-"

"Nah Sammy, it's cool. I got a prosthetic. Expensive as shit, couldn't afford the hospital bills and the fake insurance was catching up to us so we, Dad and I, had to skip town before I could really learn how to use the thing. But at least I got it. So, you know, at least when I wear pants I can pretend like I don't know what's goin' on down there." He laughs again. "At least until I stand up and then it's-" he makes a splat sound.

"So where's Dad?"

The pause is too long.

"Anyway," Dean says, "That's the story. It's been rough but I'm figuring out shit as I go. So you know, I'm not helpless. You don't have to stick around or anything."

"So how did you end up in the hospital last night?"

Dean shrugs, "I told you. Chupacabra."

"You didn't just make that up to shut me up?"

"Well, yeah, but no. It was true. Hoping to shut you up, sure. That too."

"Who the hell hunts down a chupacabra on one leg and a pair of crutches and expects to make it out alive?"

"I'm a stupid son of a bitch, what can I say?" Dean says with a plastic smile.

"…Unless you didn't expect to make it out alive?"

Dean turns his head away.

"_Dean_. You _stupid_ son of a bitch."

…

"It doesn't have to be a crippling injury. It doesn't have to change your life in any permanent, life altering way," the doctor had told him.

"I lost my fucking leg. I can't think of much that's more life altering than that."

"It'll take adjustments, for sure. But, son, it's an obstacle that you can over-come."

"My son has always been pretty active," John had interjected.

"Well, we can discuss limitations, of course. But I know a young man- an amputee, his injury much like Dean's- who's on the local fire department. I can arrange, perhaps, for Dean to meet with him, hear his story."

…

Dean sits in the car, smokes.

Sam takes a walk. Says he just needs to process, "I'll be back".

"Yeah, you fucking better be."

Dean doesn't know what Sam needs to "process". Not like Sam's the one who lost a limb or anything. It's not as if Sam has to stick around if it's too much for him to _handle_. From the rearview mirror, Dean watches his brother walk away. Wishes he could walk away too.

…

When Sam returns, Dean can see the argument in his eyes, "Come stay with me at Stanford for a bit." There's a challenge behind his words like he's anticipating another fight. But Dean's too exhausted. Exhausted from the last twenty-four hours, and just exhausted.

"Just for a bit," he says. He'll let Sam assuage his guilt in this way and then in a couple weeks, Dean will leave. Sam can feel good about himself, what a good brother he is and Dean can pick up this pity party he's been having right where he'd left off.

"Okay," Sam says, surprised at Dean's ready acquiescence. "Ok."

…

Sam hovers like Dad always knew not to do. The steps to Sam's apartment are narrow and steep, obviously not designed for people with missing limbs.

Sam's breath on the back of his neck would be enough to drive him insane if it weren't Sammy. But it is Sam and Dean has always said, Sam could get away with anything. Maybe only with him. Probably only with him since Sam was always in trouble with dad.

"Stop riding my ass," Dean says. "I can buy you some hookers if you're that desperate to get laid."

Sam huffs a laugh, "That's disgusting, Dean."

"Yeah. I agree…" He pauses, "Wait, which part?"

Sam moves like he's about to hit Dean in the arm, like he'd always done before. He curls up his fist and draws it back to his side.

Dean clenches his jaw, pretends he doesn't notice. Sam treating him like a china doll is going to grow old real fast but he can let it slide this once.

So what if Sam treats him as if he's breakable? Dean will show him he's not. Just some time, Sam needs some time.

…

"Look, you're not gonna hover," Dean says as he watches Sam tug the dirty sheets off his bed. "I've been living on my own-"

"Six months, Dean. Six months and you still can't use your prosthesis."

Dean huffs. "You ever try walking with one of those?"

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm just saying maybe I can help. You gotta sign up for physical therapy, at least. I can pay for it. Help you find a job around here."

"Wait, wait. No. I'm just sticking around long enough to get my shit together and then I'm getting back with Dad. I'm not moving in with you."

"Why not, Dean? You could."

"Seven months ago, Sammy. I called, I'm pretty sure it was seven months ago and you didn't answer. I left a message and you didn't return it."

"Dean-"

"No. All I'm sayin' is, seven months ago you wanted nothing to do with me. Hell, two days ago you wanted nothing to do with me. The only thing that's changed is that I have three limbs instead of four- I ain't flattered, Sam. So I'll accept your help because I'd like to get back to hunting someday and we both saw how well I was doing on my own. So thank you, Sam, for your help. Real brotherly of you. But let's not pretend things have changed between us."

Dean turns to leave.

"I just went to college," He hears Sam mutter to himself before the door shuts behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the final chapter guys :) Maybe I'll do a sequel at some point- we'll see how inspiration strikes :)

Thanks for your response to my story!

* * *

Dean has nightmares sometimes. Lots of times.

Now, apparently, the entire third floor knows this. And maybe some of the second, and maybe some of the fourth.

Sam's curled up on the floor next to Dean's bed where he'd fallen asleep the night before.

Dean sits at the edge of the bed for ten minutes before his need for coffee and a smoke becomes stronger than his desire not to wake his brother.

He peeks his head out the bedroom door, Sam's roommate is making himself coffee. There's nothing Dean needs so bad, he decides, that it can't wait until after Josh leaves. Josh, right? He thinks that's what Sam had said the guy's name was.

He figures that if he plays his cards right, he can avoid coming in contact with any of Sam's friends entirely. Hell, if he tried hard enough, he might be able to avoid Sam entirely as well. There's a lock on the bathroom door, he thinks he remembers. He rubs a hand over his face and falls back onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

He shouldn't have let Sam drag him here, it was a stupid, stupid idea.

A few weeks, a month at the very most, and then he'll be out of here. And then what? Maybe Dad will take him back- Dad had never promised that- that was more wishful thinking on Dean's part.

He doesn't know that even if he can figure out a way to hunt with a fake leg that he'll ever be as good as he was, that he'll ever be as good as Dad needs him to be.

The doctor had seemed hopeful about Dean's chances of regaining the "active lifestyle" he'd led before, John had expressed doubt.

"Hunting's a dangerous gig," He'd told Dean. "You know, you don't just put your ass on the line, you're putting your partner's ass on the line too. And we're not dealin' with fires here. We're dealing with shit that can throw you against walls, knock you out without even touching you. That doctor doesn't know- I don't want to discourage you, son, but I think you need to have realistic expectations."

Dean blows out a breath.

Right. Realistic expectations.

Dean doesn't want to get used to having Sam around. The pain of losing Sam the first time damn near killed him- would never admit that to a single soul- but it had.

Sam only cares so long as Dean is crippled and not hunting. When Dean gets his legs back, he'll return to hunting- he has to return to hunting- Sam will want nothing to do with him.

Dean knows how this goes.

Masochism is what this is, goddamn masochism.

…

"Your brother's been here, what? Three days? Still haven't met him," Josh says around the toothpaste in his mouth. "He gonna hide in his room the entire time he's here?"

Sam shrugs, "I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"Still haven't met him."

...

"When are you going to let me introduce you around?" Sam wants to know.

"Sam."

"What? They want to meet you!"

"Am I your girlfriend or something? Why do I wanna meet your friends?"

...

Dad calls.

"You haven't been answering my texts," he accuses.

"Yeah, well, you haven't been answering my calls," Dean says, feeling a bitterness towards his Dad he hadn't known existed. Or perhaps had never given a name.

"I've been hunting the demon."

"Well, I've been staying with Sam." He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders like he's challenging his dad to make something of it. Like he expects Dad to make him choose between him or Sam.

John doesn't make him choose.

"Sam, huh? He took you in? Thought he didn't give a shit about family."

Dean feels strangely defensive, even though he's thrown the same words himself at Sam. He doesn't know how to respond to his dad.

"That wasn't how it was, Dad," Dean says although he doesn't know that it wasn't.

"Ah. So now you're siding with him." And there it is- the choice between Sam and the family business.

"I'm not siding with anyone! I just want my brother, okay?! We're _family_ and he offered to help me."

"Yeah, well tell me all about it when he decides you're too much work, when you start interfering with his 'dreams' or his 'normal life'."

Dad always did know where to strike and Dean can't breathe.

"Kinda like what you did?" He says finally. He hangs up the phone while he still maintains some dignity in front of John.

…

"Normally, I'm about 6'1"," Sam walks in on Dean telling Jess, "These days I'm a little lop-sided," He grins with his teeth. "Lost a good twenty-four inches... but not where it really counts."

Sam shoots Dean a glare, "What?" Dean attempts to look innocent, "I'm just meeting your friends."

...

They sit around him and he holds their attention. They like Sam's brother- never realizing they still don't know anything about him. They listen to his stories about Sam and when they get home they feel good about themselves because they spent an entire evening with him and barely even thought about the fact that he was the guy with one leg.

Dean has stories of his own he could tell but he knows those are not the ones they care to hear, neither are they pieces of himself he wants to share.

He tells them about Sam. He does it possessively, like he's staking his claim, in a way. Like he's letting them know, _Hey, Sam is mine. I clothed him, fed him, raised him. Made him laugh, made him cry. I saw parts of him, know sides of him that you will never know._

He throws back another shot of whiskey and realizes how hollow and pointless it all is, anyway. Because in the end, despite all of his stories, Sam didn't choose him. He chose _them_.

…

"Well, it's obvious who got the looks in the family," Brady grins, reaching across Sam for the popcorn.

"Who me?" Sam slaps Brady's hand away, "The popcorn is mine."

"He's fuckin' pretty, man. I'm not even gay but I'd do 'im. Prettier than half the girls I've dated. Hell, I'd let him do _me_."

"That's like... the gayest thing I've ever heard," Josh laughs.

"But it's accurate. Come on, I can admit it. Ammirite, Jess?"

Jess shakes her head and laughs, "I guess it depends on your type. I go for the taller dudes."

"Wow, Jess, that was a low hit!"

"No!" Jess's face turns a bright shade of red, "I didn't mean- I wasn't making a joke-"

"Yeah, we know, Jess," Sam grins down at his popcorn. "Brady is just an asshole sometimes."

"But seriously," Brady says, "Is he gay?"

"Who, Dean?!" Sam laughs, "Don't let him hear you say that!"

"Why? Is he a homophobe or just really insecure? Cuz he's laying on the macho man thing pretty thick."

"No, it's just..." Sam doesn't really have a good answer for that. He rubs the back of his neck, "I didn't mean he'd be offended- it's just... he's a little old school. He associates gay with being unmanly."

Brady snorts, "Over-compensating. You'd better hit that, Jess. Get him while he's still straight."

…

Dean goes to one therapy appointment.

Only one. They tell him his treatment options and they tell him the cost and it's too much.

All of it is too much.

It's years of therapy, it's thousands and thousands of medical bills, it's possibly more surgeries, it's getting a job to pay for all of it, it's finding someone to help him when he can't do it by himself.

Dean's never minded hard work or effort, he has always been driven and goal oriented but this time is different because this time it's not about sheer will and elbow grease.

With Sam he's always faked bravado but this time it's just him and there's no point in lying to himself. He can't do this alone.

Sam doesn't need, doesn't want Dean holding him back. Even if the money were not an obstacle, asking Sam to make room for Dean in his life, to sacrifice for Dean is not something he'll even consider. Sam's been cool with this arrangement but only so far as it's cost him only his bed.

Sam doesn't need Dean screwing up the life he built for himself.

Dean would rather figure this out on his own before he has to hear it from Sam.

He fucked up and the consequences should be only his. That's what Dad always taught him- you man up and you face the consequences of your actions and you don't blame them on anyone else.

_"Take personal responsibility and don't be a goddamn victim."_

…

Brady doesn't bother knocking these days, apparently considers himself a good enough friend to just walk in whenever he pleases, "What are you _doing_?" He seems pissed about something.

"What?" Sam looks up from his laptop, "Oh, research- I'm lookin' into how to help Dean with his prosthesis. Jess is majoring in physical therapy, right? I should talk to her."

"You missed class, _again_\- you shithead!"

"What's it to you, Brady?"

"Your brother's not worth this!"

"Whoa, there- first of all, I thought he was your big gay fantasy-"

"So I'd screw a piece of trash, I have low standards. At least I'm not trying to lose my scholarship."

"Hey there- that's my brother you're talking about!"

"Dude, I'm sorry. I just think we need to talk about this."

"I have nothing I need to talk about with you, Brady. You need to fuck off."

"You need to make sure you have your head screwed on right." Brady takes the seat across the table from Sam, "And you need friends like me to point you in the right direction when you get off course. It's all about priorities, Sam. _Priorities_."

"Right now Dean is my priority."

"Wrong answer, Sam. How will failing your classes and losing your scholarship help anyone? You've got a big heart, Sam- it's what we all love about you but it's not going to help you, it sure as hell won't help your brother."

"You let me worry about that, Brady. I've spent my entire goddamn life balancing priorities so I'll tell you one last time to fuck off."

Brady raises his hands, "Alright, fine. But you should be thanking God for friends like me rather than pushing me away."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Yeah, cause what would I do without assholes who call themselves friends?"

"Whatever, Sam. I only say something because I care. It's not like I'm getting anything out of this. I try to be a good friend and I get called an asshole for my trouble."

"Goodbye, Brady."

"You better be in class tomorrow."

…

He thinks it would be easier to leave with just a note, maybe a brief explanation and a thank you for everything.

But that's the kind of thing that burns bridges and Dean isn't sure he's willing to do that.

So he waits with his packed duffel bag on his lap and his crutches propped up against the couch where he sits.

He'll let Sam drive him to the bus station. Busses are a pain in the ass, especially for someone with his limitations but, unless Sam offers, he's not going to ask Sam to drive him the three hour drive up the coast.

…

"I'm not taking you to the bus station, Dean. You wanna know why?"

"Why, Sam?" Dean asks wearily.

"Because I'm not letting you leave."

"I'm sorry, man," Dean laughs, "You really don't get a say in it."

"This is so fucking stupid, Dean. So stupid! Did you over-hear Brady? Is this about what Brady said?"

"Brady is an asshole, okay? Get better friends. But he's right, Sam. And this arrangement was never permanent in the first place so better to leave now than later."

"But the therapy you wanted to do, Dean- you were going to figure out how to work that leg of yours. And I was going to be there to help you out and help you find a job and you were going to live with me so you didn't have to worry about the cost of rent!"

"Dad sends me checks for the cost of rent-"

"Well that's real generous of him," Sam snaps. "Seeing as he abandoned you without helping you so much as find a fucking job! Just dropped you off in an apartment with a fucking fake leg and said 'Hey Dean, figure out your life now!'"

"Hey. What does Dad have to do with any of this?"

"Because _I'm not Dad_! I'm not going to do that to you and you can't ask me to!"

"Sam," Dean says quietly. "I know you want to 'fix' me but I've talked to the doctors and it's not an easy fix. It could take years and more money than you can possibly imagine. And I could find a job but it wouldn't cover it. You know, so what? I won't have two legs and I can't hunt. I'll be fine. Okay? I'll go back to helping Dad with research-"

"I know you, Dean. You're not fine with that. Going back to what you were? You tried to kill yourself!"

"I tried to kill a _chupacabra_."

"_You knew you couldn't do it!_" Sam explodes.

"I'll get Brady to drive me to the bus station," Dean threatens.

"Then I'll lock you in the bathroom!"

"Really, Sam? You're going to 'lock me in the bathroom'?"

"Watch me!"

Dean turns his head away with a laugh, "Seriously, Sam." He pushes his hair off his forehead and blows out a breath. "You really aren't taking this well."

"We were just starting to be brothers again… and I like having you around. Can't we just… can't we just talk about this?"

"What do you think we're doing?"

"You can be a cripple with me just as easy as you can be a cripple by yourself. Do you always have to be a goddamn martyr?"

"I'm dragging you down, Sam!"

"Says Brady! I didn't say that!"

"No, you didn't." Dean sighs.

"Just give me a chance to be there for you, Dean. _Please_. It doesn't have to be about anything other than just you and me being brothers again. If you don't wanna be fixed, fine, I won't try to fix you- you know, right now. Maybe when I'm some hot shot lawyer or something..."

Dean laughs at that, "Yeah, you're gonna be." Like there's no doubt in his mind that Sam can do whatever he sets his mind to doing.

"But there's no reason you gotta leave!"

"I just don't want to be the reason you don't get everything you've ever wanted."

"How many times do I have to tell you what I want? You're my home, man. And this, college, Stanford," he waves his hands, "is great… but I've missed you like hell." He straightens up and sticks his chin out. As if that admission has violated some Winchester code of conduct and he doesn't give a shit. "Seriously though, you gotta stop making it about me. You always do that. What is it _you_ want?"

Dean huffs out a laugh, "You wanna list, Sam?"

"Do you want to stay with me? Or are you trying to leave because you can't stand my face a second longer?"

"What I want, Sam- I want to be hunting. I want to be driving my car, you, me and dad hunting monsters, hunting the demon that killed mom. But I can't have that, maybe not ever and probably not ever with you." He bounces his good leg nervously, "But I don't wanna live in your back bedroom, man. I don't want you to take care of me."

"I don't think you need anyone to _take care_ of you."

"Damn right, I don't." Dean pauses, plays with the silver ring around his finger. "You know, I'm fine with your couch. You don't gotta give up your bed for me."

Sam laughs, "You can take the couch."

"For now. I mean, I need to do something with myself. I wanna find a job or something- and maybe I can find my own place. When I have the money, you know?"

"Yeah, of course, man. All that shit. But I'm just saying, you can do it all here. Please stay."

"Yeah…"

"Yeah?"

"Okay. Yeah."


End file.
